


i didn't care, you were the most exciting thing i've ever known

by raleighpuppy



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Adorable Max, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Max Stays, Mutual Pining, The Wives ship Max/Furiosa, just as adorable Furiosa tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:51:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raleighpuppy/pseuds/raleighpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The steps of falling in love and eventually admitting it brought to you by Furiosa and Max, the most awkward couple who claims they're not a couple in all of The Citadel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i didn't care, you were the most exciting thing i've ever known

**Author's Note:**

> So this is entirely self-indulgent fluff.
> 
> Also, the title's from the song You Told the Drunks I Knew Karate by Zoey van Goey, which I listened to while writing a lot of this and totally fits a modern AU Furiosa/Max.

Max trembles; he always trembles with the effort of holding himself together. Furiosa sits next to him, their legs just barely touching, and he doesn't know why he's trying so hard, doesn't understand it, because he knows she knows that he's falling apart, that he doesn't have much left. He wants to say something, wants to push the words out, but they stick in his throat; he's never been good at speaking, even when it matters.

"Will you be leaving?" she asks, her voice quiet and maybe a little disappointed.

He doesn't know what it is about her. Maybe it's the way their shared their violence and he can't think of anything more intimate than fighting a person, not anymore. Maybe it's the way he can see a little bit of himself in her, and that both terrifies and fascinates him. (He wants to save her before it's too late. He's not a Road Warrior; he's a man who's failed to save everyone who matters to him.) Either way, she's a friend, the only real friend he's had in so long, and he can trust her.

His heart thrums as he thinks of the desert, of the days and day and weeks and months and years he spent alone, of how stressful the Citadel is with the people buzzing about around him, looking at him, talking to him, asking him questions. It half feels like excitement, that high feeling you get when you recognize landmarks on the drive home, and half like dread. He considers saying "yes" because he always leaves, the ghosts of Them always drive him out, but he's left time and time again and They still torment him. Leaving doesn't work, at least not for him.

"No," he answers and he feels lighter having said it. "I'm staying here." He doesn't know why he adds the last part. "With you." He regrets it immediately.

She smiles a little. "Good."

They fall into a comfortable silence, leaning more against each other than they were before. Max releases a shuddering sigh and looks up to the stars.

* * *

His room is too quiet. He doesn't understand it; he should be used to quiet by now. But it makes his skin crawl and his chest feel too small and his hands shake. It's the excessive quiet, he thinks. Even in the desert, there was the wind. In here, there's nothing but his own breathing and thinking, and he tries not to think because it drags Them up and he can see Them right now out of the corner of his eyes, lurking just barely in the shadows.

He thinks he's alright; he's been living in the Citadel for about a month now and he's better, he thinks.

But he sees Them out of the corners of his eyes at every turn, in every dark corner. It's normal to see Them, but sometimes it startles him when an arm no one else can see reaches for him from the shadows and he jumps. It's enough to send him reaching for and gripping a gun he's not carrying at that moment in time since he knows the Sisters, formerly the Wives, don't like it when he feels the need to arm himself indoors. (It's probably why Cheedo is nervous around him.)

That night, that oddly quiet night when he can't even hear the War Boys working on their vehicles, it's too much and he finds himself outside, gasping for breath and clutching a knife, his hands shaking, just in case he needs to fight Them off. And he laughs because it's ridiculous to think he'd have to fight the same people he let down, the people he let die.

There's a figure outside a bit away sitting on the ground. It's solid, more so than Them, and he tightens his grip on the knife as he shuffles closer, minding his bad leg, especially since he's not wearing his brace.

He blinks.

"Furiosa?" he asks, lowering the knife.

She gives a little nod, gesturing to the empty space next to her. "Max."

"Thanks," he grunts as he sits next to her. He pauses for a minute, considering his next words and then forcing them out; talking is hard. "It's late."

She grins a little. "I could say the same to you."

He returns the grin, but his is crooked, almost a grimace, and not as pleasant as hers. He hasn't had a reason to smile in so long.

But he'll smile for Furiosa.

"Couldn't sleep," he grumbles. "'s too quiet."

"I understand. You could--" She considers it for a few seconds, wonder if inviting a man into her room is wrong, given all that's happened to her and the Sisters. But she trusts Max." --stay with me if it's too much alone."

She offers a light smile and he returns it.

Their hands almost touch.

The next night, he falls asleep first and just as she's about to nod off, she feels him move closer, pressing his forehead against her chest and pleasantly sighing,

Max is a cuddler.

* * *

Without a second thought, Furiosa settles down next to Max on the far side of the ring of pillows Capable had constructed around the meal made up of her various plants from her gardens The Dag had set up for them all to celebrate a successful six months of effectively reorganizing and running The Citadel with minimal disasters. She doesn't notice how close they are, their legs touching, until Capable giggles and whispers to Cheedo, who gives them A Look that makes Max tilt his head to the side and grunt, confused. _Oh, glory_ , the voice in the back of her head grumbles, _He's so awkward. You had to pick him_ _?_

As the meal continued, the group became more spread out, often lying or lounging on the pillows. Max leaned back against Furiosa, his bad leg stretched out in front of him and his eyes contently closed.

Another giggle from Capable.

Furiosa opened her eyes and looked to the three of them-- Cheedo, The Dag, and Capable-- with the best drowsy glare she could summon, but he didn't move. Rather, he snored.

"He looks very comfortable," Cheedo states matter-of-factly. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him so relaxed."

"We went on a late patrol last night," she replies. "He's probably just tired."

"Mmmhm," The Dag hums. The sarcasm in even her hum alone is glaringly apparent. "Exhaustion would definitely make him smile like that, lie on his back."

"Oh, glory." Furiosa rolls her eyes, suddenly hyperaware of Max's back against her leg, and her face suddenly warm and she hopes it's not noticeably red. "We're friends."

"We didn't imply you were anything more." Capable grins. "Unless you are."

* * *

Unlike his waking hours, his nightmares are loud, punctuated by screams and cries and the occasional whine much too weak and small to be coming from The Road Warrior; that doesn't stop them from clawing their way out of his throat, desperate. Even with the six? seven? months of sharing a room and a bed and comfort, his dreams haven't ceased or even declined in frequency. Furiosa never expected them to ever stop-- some things, trauma among the highest, never really stop, they only appear better for some lengths of time, mostly short-- but the screaming destroys his throat, it must. She bets it's why his voice is so hoarse and he seldom talks. It must hurt.

And it wrenches her heart a bit more than she thinks it ought to.

So as he begins his nightly sleep apologies to Jessie and Sprog and Goose and countless other names that eventually blend together into screams, she snuggles a bit closer and then runs her hand through his hair just the way he likes.

"You're okay, Maxie. It's just me..."

* * *

"You what?" Furiosa asks with a laugh, the Sisters turning to watch her as she threads the flowers.

Cheedo had been very excited to show the others what she'd recently learned to do with the new flowers The Dag grew, even pulling Max, who sits next to Furiosa with a lap full of purple and pink flowers, and they currently sat in a circle inside where it was much much cooler.

"I said I only stick around 'cause yer warm and give good head scratches," Max repeats, smirking.

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. "I knew it! You're just using me! Some consort you are. Least you're not my favorite."

"What?" He places a hand to his chest and feigns surprise. "I'm not your favorite consort?"

Toast looks to Cheedo in surprise; it's probably the most they've ever heard Max say, especially in a group setting. And the way Furiosa jokes around as well adds to the mystery and their long-held-- well, it was only held for about seven months, but in their defense, in the span of their lives since the fall of Immortan Joe seven months is a long time-- belief that the two road warriors maybe have a little more than just a friendship.

"Considering I don't have any, you're not." She shakes her head. "But, if I had some, you wouldn't be my favorite. You're too dirty."

"I'm not _that_ dirty."

"You look like you roll around in the sand for fun," Capable comments. "It's kinda bad."

Furiosa looks to Capable. "Only I can insult my consorts." She turns to Max who struggles with the flowers due to his chronically shaky hands. "Do you roll around in the sand for pleasure?"

Having surrendered and accepted his fate to constant teasing from not one, but four, women, he sighs. "I live in a desert! I'm going to be sandy!"

"But no one's as sandy as you," Furiosa replies and Max groans, burying his face in his hands. "It's alright, though. Despite how gross you are, I'll still keep you around."

He snorts and there's more emotion in his voice than there's ought to be when he replies; "Thanks."

* * *

Max's leg is sore; it's a bad day marked by stumbles and aches and pains and muscle cramps. Even still, he resolutely limps after her, his permanent brace apparently doing nothing.

"Max, you don't have to come on patrol with you," she says and he looks hurt. She inhales sharply, surprised by how that frown on him makes her feel. "It's not-- it's not that I don't want you to come, but you're hurting."

She's scared he's going to keel over, that his knee will give out. He's leaning too far to the side and he's glaring, trying to look scary and big, and Furiosa can't believe it when he does this, as if he really believes making faces will make her change her mind. And it's almost.... No. She pushes that thought away. She can't think that.

But it creeps back after Max gives in, lets her help him back to their shared room, sits back down on their shared bed. (A bed in which nothing more physical than some cuddling, strictly platonic, has occurred. Furiosa doesn't think she can handle much more than that right now and if Max wants anything more, he hasn't made any indication of it.) He looks up at her, the dim lightning making him look younger, fresher. And there it is again. She curses the thought.

Max almost looks-- and she can't believe she'd think this-- _cute_.

"Okay," she starts, sitting next to him. "I'm going to massage your leg."

"Furiosa, you don't--" be begins.

"I can send someone else out on patrol." She doesn't know why she's so eager to do this, but she wants to be the one to help him. "Let me see your leg."

He grunts, straightening his leg in front of him, and she sits next to him before placing her flesh-and-bone hand on his inner thigh and he stifles a moan as she begins to rub out the tense, sore muscle. Her smirk grows, as does the pressure she applies to his sore, achy leg and the volume of Max's groans.

"Oh, god, Furiosa," he groans. "You're so-- oh, god-- you're so-- you're so good at this. _Fuck!_ "

She leans forward so that their foreheads are touching, and then he tilts his head so their lips gently meet. She stops working the muscle on his leg, surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

"What was that?" she asks more harshly than intended based on the hurt look on his face.

"I-- I-- um, I thought--" he begins, and then she initiates another kiss.

She smiles now, noticing the faint blush on his face and, oh glory, she can't believe she'd ever be this lucky, not in a million years.

"Do I make you nervous, Fool?"

"You know literally everything makes me nervous."

She leans against him, laughing so hard she squeaks because any other man would have taken a jump on that, taken the sexual hint, something, but, glory, she had to find the one man who wouldn't and would answer her truthfully; she appreciates that about him. He holds her close and chuckles quietly though he's not sure exactly why she's laughing. He doesn't particularly care, though, as long as she's happy. As long as she'll laugh, he'll be the one glad to have elicited that reaction. It warms him a little.

* * *

 

"So, when's the wedding?" Capable asks, sitting next to him on the ground in the shade and he scowls, attempting to look threatening, but really only appearing more disheveled and mildly grouchy.

"What do you mean?" he replies.

"You and Furiosa," she explains. "Don't lie to me about this. We've all seen the way you look at her."

"What do you mean?"

She huffs, not angry, but impatient because they're both so dense. "First of all, she looks at you like you're this amazing thing, which is weird because five seconds later, she'll be ratting on you because you're sandy and smell--"

"I don't smell," he interrupts. "And we live in a desert; I'm going to be sandy."

"--And we've all seen you watching her like she's this holy figure you could never compare to. Your eyes just light up and you smile and talk so much. Hell, I don't think you even do that grunt instead of talking thing around her anymore. But you hold hands and sit close to each other. Max, I think you're in love with--"

"I know what love is." He says it quietly, almost whispering, and then his voice is full of venom. "And they're all gone. Jessie, Sprog, Goose, everyone else; gone!" And then sad and quiet once more. "It can't happen again."

"Max." Her voice softens. "Sweetheart, telling yourself you can't love her won't stop it from happening." She places a hand on his arm and he momentarily stiffens, but then relaxes as he realizes this is friendly and she's not going to hurt him; Capable would never do that. "I'm so sorry about them. I mean it. But we all have our ghosts. You just happen to have a lot of them, much more than we do. But Furiosa is here right now and I know you love her a lot."

He nods. "You're right. You're right. I have to tell her right now. Where is she?"

She gently pats his shoulder. "She's on patrol, but she should be back soon. Go and get her, loverboy. Also, try to be quieter next time."

He intensely frowns and tilts his head to the side. "...What?"

"We, um--" She blushes. "--The Dag and I heard you guys and, um, you're very loud in bed and--"

"Oh, glory." He buries his face in his hands. "We weren't-- My god, she was-- My leg-- That wasn't-- Capable, we weren't doing--" He pauses. "-- _that_."

She hums. "Course you weren't. I'll keep your secret."

"Capable, no."

* * *

 

He waits for her by the gate, nervously pacing, and wondering if this fluttering anxiety and intense fear of being left behind-- though that's nearly a constant for him-- is what Dog would feel every time he left the friendly mutt alone while he rode alone, and he finds it funny he's mentally comparing himself to Dog when he and Dog were in totally different scenarios; Dog never had to confess his life to one of the most amazing people who have ever lived. Sometimes he thinks being a dog would be easier than this. A lot of things would be easier than this.

Speaking is hard.

But he doesn't have much time to mull over his words or situation because the patrol arrives much sooner than expected and his heart begins to pound uncontrollably. _Oh, glory_ , he thinks, _It's not the nightmares or a battle that's goi_ _ng to do me in, but heart failure. Oh god._

Furiosa's face falls when she notices him, the way he's shaking and the distant look in his eyes.

"Max?" She places a hand on his shoulder as gently as she can manage. "Are you with me?"

He nods, blinking. "I'm here."

Their hands find their way together and he quietly sighs, hoping she doesn't notice how sweaty his palms are, but then again, he could justify that with the fact it's fucking hot.

"I have, um, something to tell you," he begins, not meeting her eyes.

"You sure you want to tell me here?" she asks. "You're nervous."

He laughs a little. "'m always nervous, remember?"

"How could I forget?" She offers a light grin to encourage him to speak more. "You are my favorite consort after all."

"I thought I was too smelly and sandy to be your favorite?"

"We live in a desert. We're all gross."

"Well." He grins and he figures this is the worst way to say it, but she'll like it anyway. He knows she will because she finds his little quirks and the moments he says something that sounds good in his head but comes out jumbled and so so stupid endearing, though he can't understand why because he's threatening and scary, not endearing and cute. "Even though you're gross and sandy, I love you."

"I love you too."

They kiss and the Sisters cheer.

The first question when they break apart is from Capable: "So, when's the wedding?"

Furiosa laughs, holding his hand, and Max rolls his eyes, though he's grinning from ear to ear.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, etc.


End file.
